The sun slowly sank to a faded twilight as the shadows began to climb upon the trees, casting a darken hue among the forested floor with an ominous yellow glow from above. The air got quiet as the day grew late, more and more animals that usually dotted the woods returning to their dens, for it wasn't safe at night. This was usually the most eerie part of the day, as the woods held their breath for the coming darkness, the sun abandoning the sky slowly to its sister the moon. Soon, nothing could be heard within the forest but the still wind of the leaves far above, and the crunching of Randal's footsteps.
As he got deeper, a feeling would weigh down on his mind. A great shadow growing near his back as if something was following, yet naught but the silent trees surrounded him. Now only the green tops of the wooden sentinels held the last rays of golden sunlight as it set upon the horizon, leaving the forest floor in shadow. When he neared the hill with the odd stones, he felt it beneath his feet.
If he chose to investigate the odd misstep, Randal would notice something unusual buried beneath the leaves... An old, tattered leather book. It was small, and had a worn leather front. Inside the parchment was yellow and the ink was faded... But it was obvious this was someone's journal at some point.
Here it read:
December 23rd, Village of Zantarctic
After a month of traveling I've finally arrived! I managed to hitch a ride on a passing merchant through Adela, so the last leg of the journey was fairly easy, lest we run into Bandits. BUt, it seems the god of luck smiles upon me, as I had no such encounters with any. However I cannot lie when I say I was somewhat confused when I arrived to this village. Many of the people here seem to be in fear of the mob... Understandable, but something the cold did not help at all either. I do not know if they get snow this far south, but the wind surly carries a nasty bite.
December 27th, Village of Zantarctic
The last box has finally been unpacked, and I've officially moved into the small hut near the river. It is actually quite nice here, moreso than I expected anyways. I can finally find a nice quiet place to finish my book. Thank the gods... It's been too long since I've written anything. I think I'll sit outside tomorrow and start.
December 28th, Village of Zantarctic
It was my mistake exposing myself like that. Turns out the security of Zantarctic is more lacking than I expected. Some men came by while I was enthralled in my writing and hassled me for cash. They didn't ask for much, and I certainly could afford it, but it bothered me, seeing as they weren't common beggars. No, they appeared to be hired thugs for the local Mob boss, Hildegarde something or other. They told me all new residents have to pay the 'protection fee' Not exactly sure what that entailed, but I could guess by their grim looking daggers, it meant protection from a unjust death. As such, they left me no choice. I gave them a coin purse and they left, probably going to bother my neighbor up the road. Anyways, I've learned my lesson. I'll write somewhere else now, to avoid this Hildegarde's lackeys. After all, the mob was known for it's excessive hassling...
January 2nd, Village of Zantarctic
Took me a few days to gather up my courage to write again, but I think I finally found a decent enough spot to do so. Not far from the village, there's an old trail that leads into the woodlands. I followed it for some time, hoping to get out of range from the loud noise the village brought. I decided to go off road, just in case any of Hildegarde's men decided to follow me. Probably just being paranoid, but you can never be too careful. After all, the sun was bright and shining today, and I knew my way back. There I stumbled upon an odd site, but it was quite a pleasant surprise. The treeline ends along the edges of a small hill. Filled with tall grass, I decided to hike to the top and take in the surroundings. This was the perfect spot to continue writing! It was quiet, and quite pleasing to the eye, best part of all though, there's even a few oddly placed stones on top where I can sit and lean my weary back against when writing. The move wasn't a bad idea... Not at all.
January 4th, Village of Zantarctic
Now that I've settled in, I've finally started to become attuned to Zantani culture. Learning the ways of its people and their history. Quite interesting to say the least. Its story was much richer than I expected it to be. However, they seem to think their history reflects on the present day problems of the village. Just this morning I came upon a disturbing site. A man with a terrible illness lie on the side of the road, being attended by a few woman. I couldn't quite place his odd sickness, so I decided to ask the woman. For he had excessive, bloody rashes growing on his skin, and it appeared he had blood coming from his eyes. THe answer I got from the woman however was not very informative. Being a man of science, I was hoping for a better explanation than the one I got. They claimed the man had what the Zantarctic people call "Wraithfire." Something I had never heard of prior. When I asked what that was caused by, they began to babble on about spirits and phantoms within the forest that cursed those who traveled after dark. I didn't pay any more mind to it however, for the man began to scream about 'his mistakes' and how 'the white one is coming'. Even if it's just stories, I couldn't help but grow nervous seeing the fear in his red eyes. I had to get out of there and try to forget the whole experience... But yet I can't stop myself from writing it now... Odd. I think I'll close my windows tonight and keep an extra candle next to it. After all, the woods look rather unsettling in the darkness...
January 7th, Village of Zantarctic
Something strange is afoot. Not sure what it is exactly, but it seems the weather's took a nasty turn lately, and hasn't let up in a few days. Heavy rainfall has prevented me from continuing my writing at the old stone top hill. Shame. The interior of my hut doesn't carry the same feeling for my inspiration. Oh well, I guess I'll just have to hold out and make do with the dismal circumstances. Strange though... These storms always end when the sun sets, creating a clear, and starry sky.
January 17th, Village of Zantarctic
It's been a while since I've recorded anything in here, but I had forgotten completely. The last week was rather eventful. Seemed like a gang fight broke out, and a few houses got caught in the crossfire... Thankfully mine is isolated near the river, and was left untouched. Although, many people volunteered to help rebuild the broken homes, myself included. Figured the best way to earn these people's trust was to show that I was willing to work with them. Unfortunately, I stumbled another case of this 'Wraithfire' disease. The victim suffered similar mental instability, and wouldn't stop screaming about the 'moon maiden'. Not entirely sure what that means, but It must of been just some nasty sickness he contracted in the woods. After all, his family said he had spent many days camping there... However, others seem to believe him more than I do. Apparently a legend swirls around the village about a wraith that stalks the woods, and any who cross the spirit's path are cursed with Wraithfire. Sadly, he died later that day... His eyes melting into blood. Most unusual... Despite this, the houses are rebuilt and the skies are clear, so I am free to continue writing in the spot that I love.
January 18th, Village of Zantarctic
I came back today with a rather strange feeling... I don't know how to describe, but I felt the urge to write it down anyways. It was like something growing in the back of my mind. When I left the woods, it vanished... But I can still remember it. It felt like something was constantly behind me.. Watching, waiting... But for what? I will try and shake it off, hoping it's nothing.
January 20th, Village of Zantarctic
My mind swims with pain as I try to remain focused. It appears I've come upon some headache... Some odd sickness. I can't tell when I had gotten it, but the pain in my head will not stop. It grows everyday, and I fear I may not be able to finish my book. Only time will tell. There is a herbalist in town, apparently. I will go see her and ask about it, maybe she can help me.
January 21st, Woods of Zantarctic
Nothing could slow it down. Nothing at all. I'm afraid the woman may have swindled me and gave false information about the expensive herbs she sold. And now i'm stuck here... I made a stupid choice today. I decided to try and write it my usual spot, hoping focusing on something else would help cure my headache.... But it only made it worse... I can barely record anything in this journal now, it just hurts so much... And now I'm stuck here... I got lost on my way back. The sun is setting and I cannot find the path. My head hurts... I cannot find the path.
The writing in the journal now was far more illiterate, the handwriting barely readable... And drops of dried blood dotted the pages:
Something is coming... It eats at my mind... I cannot see it, but I can feel it. The night has grown dark and the woods are quiet. A shadow stalks the trees, watching me.. Cursing me. My skin itches, and my head screams with pain. I wander the woods blindly as tears turn red among my eyes... I can't find the path...
She found me... My heart pumps violently as I tried to run.. But she is close. I know it. I SAW HER! A wraith among the forest... I heard her coming... She is coming... I need to find the path... I need to find the path... She is coming... I cannot get out... I cannot get ou-
The writing abruptly ends there, the scribbles of ink veering off the edge of the page. All the while the moon now stalks the sky, and the woods rest in shadow... The path behind Randal nowhere to be found. And a sound of crunching leaves in the distance.